


Oxytocin

by protaganope



Series: Sub!Thomas [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Office Sex, Oh man this is gay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Esteem Issues, Sounding, Thomas Jefferson is a fucking bottom change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protaganope/pseuds/protaganope
Summary: “We’re going to try something a little different today. You’re going to tell me what you feel.” At Thomas’ slight tensing, he pauses his ministrations. “Is that okay, Thomas?”Thomas nods.“Speak.”He chokes out, “Green.”George’s hand resumes, and Thomas tries to subtly shift his hips to soothe the arousal growing in his pants.





	Oxytocin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waitfor_it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfor_it/gifts).



He knows he’s in for a long night when Washington summons him, solely, into his office. Shuts the door behind him, locks it. It’s late, and the flashing of the cars from outside cast dancing flecks of light across the room.

“Sit down. Close your eyes.” George doesn’t face him, drawing the blinds in his office. His voice was calm, steady, as though he were discussing a menial thing like the weather. And indeed, to an outsider, that is what it must have looked like. Despite this, Thomas senses the hidden warning behind his words. Failure to comply wouldn’t be pretty. His dick twitches with interest in his pants as he complies, sliding into the chair opposite the older man’s desk, legs parted in a strong V as he sinks down.

Doesn’t yet shut his eyes though. He takes in Washington’s strong, imposing form appreciatively from behind while he still can, a weak form of rebellion. Takes in the firm and measured movements George makes, the swell of his well-muscled arms bulging as he pulls all the strings down, almost silhouetted body clearly stocky in a surprisingly realistic way, the sort that usually came about in labourers of the land, not in businessmen. The rich contrast between his and Thomas’ lanky frame did not go unnoticed. The few inches George held over him was always a disorientating change of pace for Thomas, made his legs feel weak and skin threaten to flush.

Washington turns to face him, and his disapproval at Thomas’ disobedience is evident in his posture.

“Mister President-” he starts, but Washington only shakes his head. Thomas’ mouth clicks shut.

“I think I told you to close your eyes.” He pauses, almost imperceptibly, “Colour?” His face seems to be enough at ease, but there is a slight tension at his brow. Thomas smirks, eyes betraying him as he veers off to the side.

“Green, sir.” He delights at the smoothing over of George’s expression.

George takes slow steps towards Thomas, leisurely, like he’s unaware of the conflict he’s forming in Thomas’ brain. The spice of his cologne washes over Thomas like a drug, and he is so _intoxicated_ by this looming figure. He feels small, smaller in a way he never feels with anyone else. 

Thomas Jefferson has always been taller than everyone he’s met, until, of course, Washington came strolling into his life. Someone who could match him, beat him. Let him express the side he’s never been able to truly give in to. 

He shouldn’t find it as hot as he does. Honestly. There’s a blush to his cheekbones, a heat to every part of his body each time George nears him, reminding him of his inferiority. God, what was wrong with him?

Quick tapping to his face makes him start, and he zones back in to see George’s concerned face glancing down at him. He’s close in a way that would be uncomfortable had it been anyone else, standing firmly between Thomas’ thighs, almost crouching to easily bring him back to reality— and Thomas can feel his body heat. Thomas’ legs were separated, it being the most comfortable position for him as he was seated, and Washington had taken advantage of this in stepping between them, closer than he’d otherwise be capable of being. George’s warmth seeps from his thighs to the insides of Thomas’, and it is deeply endangering to his health. The full realisation of the position they’re in goes straight to his cock, and he bites his lip to keep from letting out any form of obscene noise. Not yet. They hadn’t even really started yet.

He leans into George’s touch and closes his eyes.

“Good boy.” George says, warm near his ear, and he can’t help the stutter in his breath at the words, wavering in his vow of silence. His thumb rubs over part of Thomas’ jaw, feeling the rasp of his beard, and Thomas shivers. “We’re going to try something a little different today. You’re going to tell me what you feel.” At Thomas’ slight tensing, he pauses his ministrations. “Is that okay, Thomas?”

Thomas nods.

“Speak.”

He chokes out, “Green.”

George’s hand resumes, and Thomas tries to subtly shift his hips to soothe the arousal growing in his pants.

He doesn’t really like being vocal, it’s too intimate, makes him feel vulnerable in a way that hurts. But George pulls it out of him, takes away the control he propagates like a parent would with a danger a child was attempting to manipulate and somehow, miraculously, leaves him feeling much better than he did before. He doesn’t know how, doesn’t really want to, but he understands that it seems to only work with him, and that’s enough.

“It’s too late for me to keep you here, I suppose. You would’ve liked that.” George kept talking. He never used to do that, but familiarity has made him bold. Thomas can only listen intently as he continues, “Pushed you down onto your knees, closed you in under my desk and have you warm me for as long as I’d want.” Thomas lets out a soft, almost injured sound, and George’s eyes light up. “Maybe next time.”

His other hand trails down Thomas’ body, teases his stomach through his button-down. Pauses at his groin and presses with the tips of his fingers at Thomas’ dick through his pants. Thomas’ head falls back.

His own voice comes out without warning, watery and pleading. It hardly sounds like the tone he’s used to: where he is loud and confident when verbally fighting for what he wants, here, in the privacy of Washington’s office, feeling the full power of George’s presence, he’s anything but. He’s not even sure what he’s saying.

George shushes him carefully, and then there is the far too loud sound of Thomas’ zipper being pulled down. He just lets out a weak moan as Washington lazily jerks at his cock; the expert, loose twists of the of the older man’s wrist proving themselves torture. A faint hiss as his thumb rubs over the head, swiping at the bead of precome in the middle.

His hips cant up and he almost cries out when Washington pushes them back down into his chair.

But then, like he was never there, George’s presence all but vanishes. That weight and heavy heat that was keeping him grounded now light and fading. Thomas is obedient, keeps his eyes shut, but the panic must be too visible on his face because it earns him word from George that he hasn’t gone anywhere. Shuffling of fabric and the roll of a drawer make him listen intently.

“Remember Thomas, say what you feel.” There was George’s calm voice again, soothing him despite it all.

The click of a cap opening makes him flinch, makes one of Washington’s hands come back to rub at his shoulder momentarily, warm and firm. Then he is gone again, and Thomas suppresses a shiver.

Wet lathering inspires curiosity within him, his already leaking dick unable to resist jumping in its arousal once more. He comments on this aloud, feels the flush again hot on his face when Washington lets out a soft chuckle.

He grabs and steadies Thomas’ cock with one hand, divulging a few more pumps that draw ragged breaths from him. Then something cold touches the head and Thomas jerks again like he’s been struck.

“What-” his voice cracks on the vowel, halfway to worried. 

George assures him again, whispers that he’s doing well, and tells him to stay calm. It works, somewhat.

The cold thing presses down into his cock, inside the hole at the tip. It hurts a little, but it’s a good hurt, one that makes him dizzy and his brain swirl from arousal once more. Thomas can’t help but keen. 

Remembering the order to speak, his words spill out again, him unable to think past the sensation of _pressing, pressing,_ and _it feels so big, sir, fucking and stuffing my dick to the very limit._

George listens genially enough, humming low and reassuringly.

It probably wasn’t even that big, but with his eyes closed, only able to focus on the one feeling, it felt massive.

George pulls the sound up and halfway out, and Thomas’ breathing fails him once again. The older man must just let go after this, because gravity makes it slide back down into place. Thomas whines and whimpers, high in his throat, and hears how utterly wrecked his voice is to his own ears.

What was wrong with him that he enjoyed this so much?

“Nothing at all, Thomas.” Washington rumbles, caringly, and Thomas thinks to himself that he must be out of it if he’s commenting on this insecurity so vocally.

They stay like this for a while, Thomas’ arms scrabbling at George’s for purchase in the intense sensation. There is an incredibly lewd sound that resonates in the room, likely a result of the lube and the pipe stuffing his cock.

When he comes, Washington doesn’t immediately stop, only slowing slightly to allow the white liquid to pool and slick down his dick, gamming the hair at his groin. Lukewarm in relation to the remnants of burning heat of his arousal, he shifts his hips slightly and moans lowly at the burn. A deep breath, and once the feeling becomes too much he taps at Washington’s arm, always in reach.

Washington pulls the pipe out in a slow but fluid motion, and praises him for doing so well. Thomas can only offer a weak humming, an exhausted sigh in response.

When he regains his senses, a little later, he looks up to see Washington back at his desk, doing some writings. No doubt Hamilton would have to check them over later for errors, but it was nice to see the man so at ease, almost domestic in the way that he had to wear glasses so that he could see the page in clarity. His eyes flick up to regard Thomas, of whom is still rather indecently sprawled in the opposing seat. He beckons Thomas over, and he rises on unsteady feet to obey.

“How are you feeling?” George asks, pupils blown. Thomas mumbles a reply, testing the sensitivity of his hips as he slowly ruts against his own hand.

With anyone else he’d be stumbling to preserve his honour, rather than to be in their lap, but George is special.

George moves away from his desk, pushing away and relying on the wheels of his chair to make room for Thomas’ frame. He hesitates at first, but at Washington’s weighted look he complies and rests atop the man’s thighs. George makes a pleased sound, and Thomas finds himself looking anywhere but into his employer’s eyes. Rich brown, those eyes. Lit up by lights like molten lava, smooth amber appearing in flecks.

And Thomas is well and truly fucked, isn’t he? He loves this man. So, so much.

Washington tugs wordlessly at his trousers and with his help Thomas is able to rid himself of them. He feels Washington’s broad hands feel over his ass appreciatively, pull the small of his back up slightly with one hand gripping a love handle at his waist. Thomas just presses his face into George’s shoulder.

George leans him back for a moment and Thomas almost whines at the loss of pressure, of heat. He settles for a dry look, which the older man easily matches. It shouldn’t be that hot.

He hears the lube bottle again and this time moans quietly into it as Washington presses his fingers into his entrance. There was something about this, being here, in his office, that made the sensation even more intense. There was something else, too, that made his adrenaline high from balancing in George’s lap, and he wasn’t sure as of yet if he liked it. Either way, there was temperature in his cheeks, and the safety of the situation calmed him enough that there was no issue.

Three, then what must be four fingers brush over his prostate and one of Thomas’ hands can’t help gripping Washington’s upper arm, overtaken. A broken moan, and he hisses as George’s fingers leave.

“Such fuss, again?” Washington sounds pleased. Thomas tries to scowl but the jostling as the man pulls himself out of his own pants distracts him. The thick head of Washington’s member is a monster, and it takes a moment for Thomas to relax into it. He hears his own voice again, and if possible blushes deeper.

Washington moves like a motor, and Thomas is wholly taken off guard. His head falls back and entire body _shakes_ , rocked by the power of his thrusts. To think he’d almost forgotten this feeling, preoccupied with his schedule, for the most part. He lets out an intelligible sound that slurs on as George moves. Falls deeper onto his dick as he rolls his hips.

Skin covered in sweat, he comes for the second time that night and fiercely prays to any deity listening that no one else in the building heard his moans.

George comes quieter than he, hips frozen and dick still weeping as he pulls out. Thomas smears the tip with the palm of his hand and smiles loosely as George lets out a low and savoured moan at the motion. Limbs unsteady, Thomas fixes their clothes and calls a taxi.

Time for bed.


End file.
